


Can't Resist That Deadly Thrill

by tristesses



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Semi-Public Sex, implied polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pepper and Natasha don't often have time to spare, but when they do they make the best of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Resist That Deadly Thrill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixFalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFalls/gifts).



> I tried to work in some Pepper/Natasha/Tony, though it's very lightly implied; the story just wasn't having it. This went through four or so iterations before I was finally happy with it, but I love this version, and I hope you do too!
> 
> Oh, and the title is from the aptly-named song [Black Widow](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTkD9aCG7H8) by Lita Ford.

Early afternoon: for the Avengers, this is the end of training day at Stark Tower. Natasha sweeps her hair into a ponytail, combing her fingers through the damp tangles, fresh from the shower. Her body hums with the pleasant strain of a good workout, muscles sore in places they haven't been for too long now. That's one of the good things about having Steve Rogers on your team: he packs a punch and doesn't hold back, so long as he knows you can take it, and he's fought next to Natasha enough times to know she can.

She sinks onto the couch in the main den, stretching, letting herself relax. Elsewhere on the floor, she can hear the rest of the team talking, an indecipherable murmur. 

Rather than live at the Tower, like Tony had perhaps envisioned originally, all of them have apartments in the city—with the exception of Thor, who isn't on Earth enough to merit one. Even Natasha, who has much more reason to live here than the others, keeps a midsize apartment in a quieter part of town. Still, she's here so often her habitual wariness is beginning to wear off. She knows the feel of the bathroom's tile under her feet, can tell the path from her designated suite to the den by the slightest indentation of her footprints worn into the carpet; she knows the security systems and the most optimal positions for cover or for sniping, knows how to kid around with JARVIS, knows exactly where Clint always hides her boots (though if she's in the mood, she'll put on a show of exasperation and stomping around for his benefit). She's comfortable here. She's comfortable with these people.

This is the only reason why her girlfriend manages to sneak up on her.

"All cleaned up?" Pepper asks from behind her, voice low and amused. Natasha is far too professional to jump, but she does tense up before relaxing with a sigh. The carpet muffles the clicking of Pepper's heels, but her approach still should have been obvious. 

"More or less," Natasha says in reply, and tilts her head back as Pepper folds her arms on the top of the couch, peering down into Natasha's face.

"Mmm. I like that." Careful not to smudge her lipstick, Pepper drops a light kiss on Natasha's forehead, and when Natasha reaches up and cups the nape of her neck, drawing her down into a real kiss, she laughs a little before reciprocating. Passionately.

They part for a moment, and Natasha murmurs, "Got a second?"

"Unfortunately, no." Pepper pulls back, and Natasha twists around in her seat to watch her tuck her hair behind her ears. She has such long, elegant fingers. Soft hands. "I've got a date with the head of Bloom Industries and a board meeting before I can even think of taking a break."

Giving up on seducing Pepper right there on the couch, Natasha stretches and stands up. "Any potential problems there?"

Not that Natasha seriously thinks there would be, and even if there were, Pepper is more than capable of handling herself; still, she's nosy by nature, and likes to keep in the know.

"Well, there shouldn't be." Pepper rolls her eyes, and takes a little compact out of her purse. "The CEO's been getting cozy with Justin Hammer lately, but other than that….You smudged my makeup."

"It was worth it," Natasha informs her, and the corners of her lips curl as Pepper laughs.

"I hope so! Also, the gallery opening tomorrow is at seven," she adds, snapping the compact shut. Her lips are neatly outlined again, crisp straight lines of soft coral. Natasha wants to taste them. Pepper smiles, and it's a decidedly different smile from her usual kind ones. "Are you going to be there?"

Natasha's breath catches, but she shrugs and says coolly, "As long as it doesn't conflict with my schedule." By which she means _as long as I don't have a mission_. SHIELD doesn't exactly give her advance notice.

"Good. I'll see you there." And Pepper is gone, as quietly as she came.

The two of them don't have nearly as much time together as they would like; they lead equally busy lives, but Natasha's line of work requires much more discretion and a lot less time spending nights at Stark Tower—not to mention less time to play the sort of games she and Pepper enjoy.

But there's always events like the gallery opening. Natasha is optimistic.

****

. . .

Wrapped in crimson silk, wearing kohl on her eyes and deep red lacquer on her nails, Natasha spends most of the night hovering on the edge of the crowd, inconspicuous except for when she wants to be noticed. Too often these galas end up like war zones, courtesy of all the big-name attendees being targets of the supervillains of the week, and she can't help but slip into that familiar role now: the Black Widow.

Yes, the Black Widow. She is calculating, clever, cold, a vision in black and scarlet with venom in the sweet curve of her lips and deceit in her eyes. She can slip through shadows like a specter, worming secrets from her marks with any tool in her arsenal (fear, sex, trust), and she fights with the cool languidness of an apex predator. She leaves little room for emotion or weakness, and she never lets her guard down. Never. She is—she—

She is melting against a wall in the back alley outside a warehouse-cum-art gallery funded by Stark Industries, with Pepper's hand shoved between her legs. So much for the cool and collected Black Widow. Hopefully that particular skill-set won't be necessary tonight.

Pepper's other hand is braced a few inches above Natasha's head, adding to her sensation of enclosure, of being trapped. She'd made Natasha take off her heels once they snuck into the alley, leaving Natasha even shorter and giving herself a four-inch advantage. Pepper _looms_. Natasha's heart is fluttery with adrenaline, her breath choppy; she could break Pepper in half easily, she knows it, but there are times when she looks at her (impeccable Pepper, stubborn Pepper, steadfast Pepper clad in her silk-and-satin armor), and Natasha can believe that Pepper Potts could take her down.

"The art is nice," Pepper murmurs in her ear, and rubs her fingers right against Natasha's cunt, over the lace of her panties; Natasha pants and wriggles, grasping uselessly at the brick wall behind her. In another situation, she'd grab Pepper's shoulders, pull her closer, push her down, but that's not the game they're playing tonight, and Natasha knows better than to touch without permission. "A little postmodern for my taste, but I can appreciate the intent behind it. What do you think?"

" _Mmm_ —not my style," Natasha manages, and opens her eyes with an effort, staring up at Pepper's face. She's close to serene, only a little flush belying exactly what she's doing to Natasha below the waist. "I like classical art—sculpture, ancient Greece, _hnn_ , you know."

Pepper hums in agreement. "The Kritios Boy," she says. "The Parthenon Marbles. Or do you prefer the Renaissance interpretations?"

Under her fingers, Natasha trembles. Her panties are utterly ruined by now, the lace sodden; Pepper applies just a bit more pressure, until the rough fabric rubs directly against her clit, too much friction too soon, and Natasha arches hard (to or from Pepper's hand? Even she isn't quite sure). Pepper steps closer, blocking her in, until Natasha has nowhere to go but into her arms.

Pepper opens her mouth to prompt her, but Natasha beats her to it.

"The originals are best," she pants. Another little shudder runs through her body. Deep inside, tension coils, a building pressure that makes her muscles tense and her back arch. "Pepper—"

"You have good taste," Pepper whispers, and hooks her fingers in the front of Natasha's panties, yanking them up hard. The quick shock of pain against such sensitive tissue is enough to make Natasha jolt from her haze of arousal to the here-and-now, but Pepper only twists the fabric until Natasha's folds are pinched and compressed in their little lace torture device, enough to make her vision hazy again.

"Not just yet," she croons, and Natasha's nails scrape along the brick wall again.

Quickly, Pepper hooks her leg around Natasha's and pulls the shorter woman's thigh between hers. Natasha knows what to do without being told; she braces herself against the wall and pushes her knee against the crux of Pepper's legs. Pepper rubs against it with a pleased sigh. She isn't the sort of woman to let her face betray her, especially not in a semi-public setting, but Natasha can see the way her shoulders go loose and her eyes unfocused. Pepper's lips part, a soft pout to match Natasha's stark crimson, and Natasha can't help herself: she leans forward the best she can, putting her mouth on Pepper's jaw, nipping instead of kissing, little love bites too gentle to leave marks—she'll leave those for delicate skin that can be concealed.

"Oh," Pepper says quietly, and ruts forward on Natasha's leg, ducking her head to press their lips together, deep kisses made sloppy by Pepper's little sighs and Natasha's whispers of encouragement. Natasha's mind whirls; her thoughts are stuck somewhere between _so sexy, fuck, you're so sexy_ , and _oh god please just touch me_. Soon enough.

The only indication Pepper makes when she comes is a small noise, barely more than a whisper, and a shudder.

"Very nice," Natasha comments, a little breathless herself—who couldn't be, with Pepper Potts coming apart in her arms?

"Thank you," Pepper says, quite politely, and then she gives Natasha an honest-to-god smirk unlike anything people would expect the CEO of Stark Industries to wear. "And now it's your turn."

A tremor rushes through Natasha. She goes up on her toes to kiss Pepper, but Pepper just pushes her gently against the wall and says, "Turn around."

Natasha obeys.

"Now," Pepper says, and presses close, her long fingers stroking the smooth, sensitive lines of Natasha's neck. "Touch yourself."

_Oh._

Natasha hikes up her skirt and pushes aside the fabric of her underwear, fingers immediately sliding to the wettest part of her. She swirls her fingers around there before moving up, slippery and sweet, until the bud of her clit is right underneath the pads of her fingers. The first touch makes her moan out loud—mostly for Pepper's benefit, she likes it when Natasha is vocal, but also because it feels so damn _good_ to finally have friction— and the second makes her gasp, arching her back. The brick presses against her face and breasts, digging into her skin, a rough counterpoint sensation to her fingers circling in the slickness between her legs. Behind her, Pepper is kissing her ear and murmuring sweet nonsense, and Natasha's muscles are tensing, her movements becoming jerky, but Pepper whispers, "Keep going," so Natasha does, until—

The pressure crests and breaks, pleasure previously denied rippling through her body, and Natasha cries out into the brick wall.

Pepper knows her well enough to let her rest a minute before nudging her to turn around. They cling together, Natasha tucking her face against Pepper's shoulder. She loves this so much, loves the safety and comfort of relinquishing control. She loves _Pepper_ , so, so much.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha lets herself relax completely, winding her arms around Pepper's waist.

"You know," she says slyly, "I'm pretty sure the Greeks made a lot of erotic pottery."

Pepper laughs into her hair. "I think we own some, actually. I'll have to look later."

"You do that," Natasha tells her, just as their phones go off simultaneously. They share a despairing look (strangely reminiscent of Natasha's time as Natalie Rushman), and answer. Thirty seconds later, they hang up in eerie synchrony.

"Tony?" Natasha asks, pulling down her dress and patting her hair until it resembles something other than post-sex bedhead. The adrenaline rush is already beginning; her heart pounds, and the world shines in utter clarity.

"Tony," Pepper answers, resigned, fixing herself up just like Natasha. They give each other a once-over: perfect. The two of them are nothing if not a good team in a crisis. "Let's go save our man."


End file.
